Crossing the Finish Line
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Movie epilogue. He was going to enjoy what he'd been given, and what he'd snatched back from fate, as long as he could hold on to it. Slash.
1. Crossing the Finish Line

**Title**: Crossing the Finish Line

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: _He was going to enjoy what he'd been given, and what he'd snatched back from fate, as long as he could hold on to it_. 2200 words; slash.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the world is not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Fandom**: Death Race (2008)

**Notes**: I have absolutely no excuse for this one. It just _came_ to me, and I've had enough problems with my muse in the last year that I wasn't going to kill off any writeable idea.

* * *

"Hey, Igor."

"Yeah?" Jensen muttered back, not bothering to open his eyes; they'd had a long day on the road, and it would be another long day tomorrow, no matter who was driving.

"How come you never asked?" Joe said, bluntly.

Now that _did_ merit a response. Jensen turned his head and blinked open his eyes, squinting at the dark face of Joe a foot away from him. It was pitch dark out under the stars, but there was enough light shining into the pickup bed from the rest stop lights to read Joe's expression. He looked honestly curious, and a little tense; and if he was asking what Jensen thought he was asking, he had reason to be.

"Never asked what?" he replied, looking for clarification.

Joe snorted. "If the rumors were true. About me and my navigators."

Jensen had heard plenty while working on the Monster. Lists had said Machine Gun Joe had male navigators because he went through them so quickly-- it made the audiences squeamish to see so many women die-- but Gunner had claimed it was for another reason altogether. "Does it matter?" he asked.

"Just seemed a little strange, is all," Joe said, slowly. "Traveling as close together as we are."

The man was either chatting him up, or genuinely curious; could go either way. Joe had been very quick to tie his fate to Jensen's after Jensen had enlightened him to the real score with Frankenstein and Hennessy, despite the fact that he could easily have gone off on his own after their escape. "Didn't seem important," he replied, truthfully. There had been too many other things to worry about.

"What if it's important to me?" Joe pressed, intent gaze sweeping down Jensen's blanket-covered form.

Definitely chatting him up. Jensen rolled his eyes. "Thought I was the ugliest motherfucker in that prison."

"Thought you was a wife kind of guy, man. We all knew what you were sent there for. And you _are_ the ugliest motherfucker in this truck." The amused glitter in his eyes said what he hadn't, aloud; Jensen was the _only_ other person around, and would be for quite some time. Until they had money and a base of operations, recreation was way down on their list of priorities.

"I'm pretty much equal opportunity," Jensen decided to admit. The package had never mattered to him as much as what it contained, and before Suzy, he'd run with a much rougher crowd. If they made contact with any of his old circle-- and they might have to, if they hoped to get over the border anytime soon-- it would be easy enough for Joe to find that out. "But I'm a one-at-a-time kind of guy, and I invited Case to join us."

"_If_ she shows up," Joe said, amused, "won't be no skin off my nose."

"Well, then," Jensen said. Good to know where he stood.

"_Well_, then," Joe hinted, reaching out from under his blankets.

It was the least sentimental attempt at seduction Jensen had ever fielded; but it _had_ been six months since he'd had any kind of willing sexual contact, and he was man enough to admit that he still wasn't ready for _sentimental_, not when he still dreamed nightly of his wife's death. Might be good for him to get all that out of his system on someone a little less breakable-- and more straightforward to deal with-- than Case. He thought about it a moment more, reminding himself of the pleasures another warm male body could bring, then smirked back by way of consent.

"What the hell."

* * *

Eventually, they made it to small-town Mexico. It took a while to get there on the limited resources they'd been able to salvage from Terminal Island; saving their money for petrol rather than hotel rooms had helped some, but hadn't covered everything. Joe had suggested a little property crime to make up the deficit, but visions of being clapped in irons yet again had driven Jensen to the few old contacts in the States likely to believe him. Besides, he owed it to Suzy and Piper to make an honest man out of himself; and if Joe was determined to follow him around, then that applied to the other man, too. He was being difficult about it, but Jensen was sure he'd come around. He had some fairly effective means of persuasion at his disposal.

One of those, surprisingly enough, had turned out to be Piper. They'd picked up Jensen's baby daughter on their way across country, and in no time she'd wrapped the large, fierce driver around her tiny little fingers. Jensen hadn't even bothered to try to negotiate with Piper's foster parents; he knew how they were likely to react to a convicted killer showing up on their doorstep, no matter how innocent he might actually be. He'd simply crept in through the window of Piper's nursery, snagged enough supplies to fill a diaper bag, and left. After that, he'd let Joe carry her on his turns to drive since they didn't have any kind of a car seat yet, and the pair had inexplicably bonded. The day she giggled in Joe's face and called him "Do," the smile that lit up his face had ruined his ruthless-killer image forever.

They made a ramshackle sort of household, he, Joe, and Piper; Jensen had made sure they found a place with three bedrooms when they settled, theoretically one for each of them, but only two of the rooms were ever used. Jensen had figured that when Case finally showed, he'd give her the free room to be polite, and Joe could sleep on the sofa until the question of how she fit into the picture was settled.

Except that Case never showed, and never showed; they'd been out of Terminal Island for six months by the time she finally rolled into the parking lot of their auto shop, looking as gorgeous and willful as the day he'd first seen her. She had some kind of excuse about her release papers not being immediately approved, but Jensen had to wonder. Surely cleaning up the mess Hennessy's death had made of the prison's administration wouldn't have taken _that_ long.

She took to Piper even quicker than Joe had; the first time she took his baby daughter in her arms a fresh surge of grief nearly dropped him to his knees, but he took a deep breath and the moment was gone as quickly as it had come. No, Case wasn't Suzy; but she was more ruthless than Suzy had ever been, while still capable of compassion, and might make a decent female role model in their crazy world.

He might have felt less cheerful about that, in the world that had existed before Hennessy sent her pet driver to kill his wife and ensure Jensen became her next Frankenstein; might have apologized to his altruistic wife for calculating the value of the people around him according to how they fit his long-term goals. But she wasn't here, and he wasn't going to let Piper grow up to become the same kind of screw-up he had. She was going to be beautiful, and brilliant, and strong, and forge her own future for herself: he would see to it.

At first, Case seemed to slip right into their lives without a hitch; she watched over Piper when both men were busy working at the shop, and took her own turns contributing to their income. Joe was the best cook of the three of them, but there were some dishes she knew that he didn't, and she was better at folding laundry than either of them had been. There was only one thing lacking; though she still strutted around in those tight clothes that made a man look-- and walked in a way that ensured she _knew_ he was looking-- she never made good on any of the implied promises; never cornered Jensen in the shop, never touched him if she could help it, never slipped into his bedroom after dark. It made him wonder again, thinking on it; he hadn't taken her for a tease. Willing to do whatever she had to to survive, but not a tease.

On the sixth night, he heard a noise from the extra bedroom when he got up to take a leak, and decided it was time to find out exactly what was up. He knocked gently on the door, then cracked it open without waiting for permission, and was not surprised to see her backed into a corner, curled around her knees as she sat on the floor. Her eyes were fierce and dry as she looked up at him, but it was hard to miss the mild tremors shaking her frame; Jensen stopped several feet away to preserve her space, then knelt down to her level to reduce his threat profile.

"I thought I could do this," she said, matter-of-factly; he could hear the weariness and the faint self-disgust in her voice, and wondered how he hadn't seen it before.

His most recent stint in jail hadn't been the first time he'd done time, and he wasn't naive. The private prison system was better than the old public system in only one way: it made more money. Greed of one kind often promoted other kinds of greed, as well.

"Was it the guards?" he asked quietly. He knew she'd been married once, to a cop; knew she'd killed him for being a 'lousy husband', and what that likely meant; knew the guards would have used that against her.

Case nodded hesitantly, her expression both apologetic and defiant.

"Don't feel guilty," he assured her, making a quick decision. "I'm not going to press you; that's not the reason I invited you here."

She uncurled a little at that, confusion drawing her brows together. "But I thought--"

He shrugged, and tried for a reassuring smile. "Piper sure could use a mother figure. And I admit, you're-- something else." Despite his best intentions, he couldn't keep his eyes from dropping to her bare, shapely legs and pert, lace-covered breasts, but he jerked them back up immediately. "But you'll be safe here, as long as you want to stay. Neither of us will touch you if you don't want us to."

Confusion melted into wary disbelief with a dash of gratitude; still not quite reassured. "You mean that?" she asked.

Jensen shrugged, then decided to give her a reason she _could_ believe. Now would be the time to reassess his arrangement with Joe, if he was ever going to; but he'd got used to this life and saw no reason to change it. He was more content than he'd ever expected to be again.

He hoped that wherever she was, Suzy could see him now, and approve. All he wanted now was be the best dad he possibly could for Piper; and his little girl already had both Joe and Case in her tiny little hands. They'd do all right, the four of them, as long as Case wanted to stay; and he hoped she did.

"Sure," Jensen shrugged, then stood slowly, and gestured with his chin in the direction of the living room. "Joe'll be glad to have his side of the bed back, I reckon."

He could see her blink as she processed what that meant; then she took a deep breath and relaxed a little, climbing slowly to her feet. She still looked ready to bolt-- the way her toes gripped at the carpet, and the nervous way she pushed her hair out of her eyes confirmed it-- and it made him feel uncomfortable, as though he'd unexpectedly seen her naked. He was used to the brash, competent Case of the daylight hours, and hoped this would all blow over come morning.

"That's-- not what I would have expected," she finally said, "but I've seen you work together, and I know how much he likes Piper. If he makes you happy--" She paused, then smiled, awkwardly. "Thank you."

Jensen smiled back, then bid her good night and trudged out toward the sofa.

Ah well. Maybe years from now she'd find some skinny little geek that he and Joe could boss around, and give them little brothers and sisters for Piper; or maybe not. Or maybe none of what they'd built here would hold up at all; maybe Joe would leave, or the law would find them, and this would all be taken away from them-- again. But whichever way things went, he was going to dwell in the moment; he was going to enjoy the fuck out of what he'd been given, and what he'd snatched back from fate, as long as he could hold on to it.

"So how much of that did you hear?" he murmured, propping his elbows on the sofa back and leaning over to gaze down into Joe's open, thoughtful eyes.

"Enough," Joe said, frowning up at him.

"Then come the fuck back to bed." Jensen stifled a yawn, then turned to trudge back to his bedroom.

Heavy footsteps, as measured as his heartbeat, followed right behind him.

-x-


	2. Marking Time

**Title**: Marking Time

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: _They didn't talk emotion, he and Joe; never spoke about long-term plans, or anything else that might imply commitment._ 1200 words; slash.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the world is not.

**Fandom**: Death Race (2008)

**Notes**: So. I watched the movie again; and the stoic face of Jason Statham compelled me. Follow-up to "Crossing the Finish Line".

* * *

It was amazing how much a year could change the course of a man's life. Three hundred sixty-five days after the death of his wife, Jensen Ames awoke on a worn mattress next to a body heavier than his own, and replayed the course of events that had led him there in his mind's eye.

Suzy's voice, whispering in his ear that he was a good man; her beautiful face, open-eyed and bloody, when he'd come back downstairs from washing up. The blur of the attack: the chemical spray, the knife in his hand, the murderer taunting him as he walked out the door. Six months in prison, waiting for conviction and transfer to Terminal Island; then Hennessy, Frankenstein's mask, and the false opportunity offered with it. Coach, Gunner and Lists, supporting him as well as his old crew ever had even though they'd known him for less than a week. Case, hitching her wagon to his and enabling his escape. And Joe Mason: always Joe, from the moment the man had walked up to Jensen in the yard and nicknamed him Igor. Hadn't been able to get away from him since, and after six months, Jensen didn't think he was ever going to.

He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. They didn't talk emotion, he and Joe; never spoke about long-term plans, or anything else that might imply commitment. They more or less lived their lives one day at a time, and wore themselves out on each other whenever the mood called for it. But the fact remained that Joe had followed Jensen cross-country on his quest to find his daughter instead of going on ahead to Miami like he'd planned, and never spoke of leaving again once they'd crossed the border into Mexico. He was even letting Jensen make an 'honest man' out of him-- as far as the term 'honest' could be applied to their current employment-- and hadn't complained when Case had shown up the week before and he'd been temporarily exiled to the couch.

Jensen turned his head a little, stubble scraping on the sheets, as he took in the sleeping face of his fellow fugitive from justice. 'Partner' was probably a better word for their function in each other's lives, but not a term Jensen cared to use just yet, especially on this particular anniversary. Still. When he'd woken from dreams of laughter or lust in recent weeks, often as not it had been Piper's effervescent giggle, not the melody of his wife's amusement, ringing in his ears; soft lips and yielding curves had been replaced by rough, heavy hands and the ridged texture of facial scars skimming over the playing cards tattooed on the inner curve of his hip.

Each of those scars represented a man's death on the Terminal Island track, Coach had told him, cut there by Joe himself with a razor blade after each race. One of the scars was fresh, still fading after half a year; there were nearly a dozen all told, though one less than Jensen knew there should be. The moment Joe had connected the accented voice on the radio with the new wrench monkey on the Monster's crew, he'd known-- and Jensen had been perfectly aware he'd know-- that the original Frankenstein really had died at the other racer's hands. Joe'd never added a cut for that death, though; and Jensen had never asked why, nor asked what Joe had done to get himself sent to the Island in the first place.

He had his own dark side, after all. On mornings haunted by the less pleasant sort of dream-- Pachenko aiming two fingers at him in imitation of a gun, smirking as Jensen lay paralyzed in his wife's blood-- he kept sane by reminding himself of the ultimate outcome of that particular meeting: the column of Pachenko's neck trapped between his arms, the sound of vertebrae snapping as he took out his vengeance on Hennessy's chosen weapon. He'd never felt an instant's remorse for the act, though he knew that was a betrayal of what Suzy had wanted for him.

He wasn't a good man, that was all there was to it. Never had been. Never would be.

So was it naïve of him, to settle with this man who could hardly be any more different from his Suzy if Jensen had had the entire world to choose from? Maybe, but he didn't think so. Did Joe's history matter, if he could still hold Piper like she was the most precious jewel on Earth? Did the blood on his hands darken his soul any more than Jensen's? He shifted, still feeling the marks of strong fingers on his rib cage, the imprint of teeth in his shoulder, the residual soreness from the previous evening's events, and smirked. Did it make what they did together any less satisfying?

Joe stirred a little at the movement, blinking dark eyes open and focusing, slowly, on Jensen's face.

"Mornin'," he said, heading off the cautious wrinkle developing on Joe's forehead. "Was thinking about getting up and taking a shower." It wasn't quite an invitation. But the offer was there.

A leisurely smirk tugged up the corners of Joe's mouth. "Not still wore out, huh? I must be slipping."

So different from Suzy. She'd known what he'd been, and taken him anyway; encouraged him to be better. But he'd been the strong one in that relationship, the one who had to be coaxed to let his barriers down. It was a whole different thing, negotiating place between a pair of alpha dogs like he and Joe. Nothing said, everything implied, and not an ounce of yield in either one of them. 'Come the fuck back to bed' was as close as Jensen had ever got to a statement of intent; 'Well, then' the clearest agreement Joe had ever spoken aloud.

It wasn't love; but it was _loyalty_, and there was more assurance and contentment in it than Jensen had ever expected to find again in his lifetime.

"Was thinking about getting a new tattoo today, too," he said, casually.

Joe's smirk widened as he glanced down at the expansive black-line art already sketched across Jensen's body, the landmarks of a life lived a quarter mile at a time. "Don't have enough of 'em already?" he asked, skimming a wide palm over the gridwork on Jensen's right shoulder, the spiderweb on his flank, the lettering inked on his chest.

"Maybe a death's head," Jensen continued, squirming a little under the touch as his body began to insist they really needn't wait for the shower. "You know. Inside a circle."

Joe's breath hitched a little; but the only other sign he understood the significance was the more deliberate way his hands began to stroke and tease. "Hm," he murmured, voice roughened with intent. "Might have to get one of those, too."

The ink on Joe was harder to see against his dark skin; Jensen knew every inch of it, though, and stroked a firm thumb over the one nearest the insistent invitation pressing into his thigh. "Sounds good."

It had been a year. Yes, he thought; it was time.

-x-


	3. Louder Than Words

**Title**: Louder Than Words

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: FR15

**Summary**: _The first time Jensen heard his daughter call Case 'Mama', some three months after the woman tracked them down in Santa Rosalia, it brought a painful lump to his throat._ 3000 words; slash.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the world is not.

**Fandom**: Death Race (2008)

**Notes**: Refers in passing to the events of the "prequel", Death Race 2. Also includes a bonus Jason Statham reference to another franchise; yeah, it's the one you think it is. Domestic fic.

* * *

The first time Jensen heard his daughter call Case 'Mama', some three months after the woman tracked them down in Santa Rosalia, it brought a painful lump to his throat. He'd thought he'd been prepared for it- had been downright encouraging it, in fact- but something about the way his baby girl smiled up at her suddenly reminded him that Piper would never know the beautiful, compassionate soul who'd brought her into the world. The rank unfairness of it stole the breath from his lungs.

He swallowed hard, then forced himself to smile; he didn't want to upset either one of them. It wasn't Case's fault she was there instead of his wife; it wasn't her fault Piper had took to her so well; and it definitely wasn't her fault that Hennessy had lit on Jensen's record when she'd gone searching for an ex-con with a history as a driver.

Fortunately, she was too busy focusing on his girl to notice his initial reaction. Piper giggled, bracing her small weight against Case's legs, and Case bent down to lift her up. "That's right," she cooed, bracing the toddler in the crook of one arm, tickling her gently with her free hand. "Who loves you?"

"Mama!" Piper said again, shrieking and squirming in that overcharged way common to babies whose cup runneth over.

Case finally felt Jensen's eyes on her, then; she pressed a kiss to Piper's forehead and looked up. The soft curve of her smile, the sweep of eyelashes over her cheek, and the laughing toddler in her arms made for a perfect picture of motherhood, jarring against stirred-up memories of Suzy like a thumb jabbed into a half-healed wound.

"And what about Dada?" Case smiled, lifting her free arm to point in Jensen's direction.

Piper followed the motion with her eyes, then spotted him and reached for him with her chubby little hands. His smile grew a little more genuine at the sight, and he took her from Case's arms, pressing his lips to the same place on his daughter's brow.

"Dada," Piper repeated the more familiar word, tucking her little face into the angle of his neck and shoulder.

"Dada loves you, too," he assured her, voice rough with emotion.

In a perfect world, Suzy would still be alive; they'd still be living in that little house, surviving paycheque to paycheque, slaving the day away for those few perfect hours at night when the three of them could be a family. But it wasn't that perfect world; it wasn't even the sort of world that might play out in an action film, where the grieving but triumphant hero would be rewarded with a new wife to mother his child and a tidy yard in a quiet suburban neighbourhood. Jensen Ames was a violent fugitive, sharing bed and work with a man who'd killed at least a dozen other criminals without a flicker of remorse, and the gorgeous woman across from him had soul-deep scars and a cruel history all her own.

Once upon a time, a cold, ruthless bitch had looked down on him from her balcony and said the world had given him to her because he was not fit to be a part of it. Hennessy had been trying to make a point with that speech, but there were days he believed every word of it anyway. Wondered what the hell he was doing, thinking the three of them could raise Piper with no advantages other than love and hope without dooming her to a life as screwed up as their own.

But even on _those_ days, he still firmly believed that no one else could possibly love her as much as he did- and that that was all that truly mattered. Not the foster parents the state had given her, nor any of Suzy's relatives, who hadn't so much as spoken to her since she'd married him. Piper was Jensen's main reason to keep going- and somehow, some way their little nucleus of a family had drawn in Joe and Case as well. He'd just been starting to trust that the situation might last beyond the next morning and the next quarter mile, given adequate defensive measures.

Piper snuggled closer into his chest, slowing down from a long afternoon at play; Case rubbed a hand over her back, smiling as warmly as if Piper were her own flesh and blood. "You know, I never really wanted kids with my husband, and after I went to prison..." She shook her head. "But Piper's such a doll. How did someone like you ever make such an amazing kid?"

"That's all on Suzy, believe me." Jensen aimed a wry smile at her. "You feed her?"

"Yeah. Some beans, a little chicken, and about half a banana; I tried the rice, but she spat it out again."

He sighed, his unquiet ghosts stirring up an answer. "It's probably the texture; Suzy used to say her mother had all sorts of stories about how picky an eater _she_ was when she was little."

"Blaming that on her too, huh?" she replied, lightly. "Well, I'm sure Piper will grow out of it. In the meantime, though. I'll be out late tonight. You need anything before I go?"

"Nah; I'm sure Joe and I can manage," he said, nodding to her. "Go on; have fun."

He'd actually intended a quiet hour or two playing with Piper, then maybe a not so quiet hour or two with Joe, perfect for one of her evenings out, though he wasn't really in the mood anymore. It was still good to see Case reaching out, and it wasn't as though it was a hardship for them to be left with the baby; he and Joe _had_ made it six months on their own before Case joined them. Though of course, Piper had been less mobile, then. It was amazing how fast that diaper clad bottom could move, now that she'd figured out what her legs were for.

Case's smile widened, a flash of the old flirtatiousness briefly lighting her expression. "Honey, you don't need to tell _me_," she drawled, as she headed out the door.

Jensen let his smile fade with a sigh, then jogged his daughter carefully in his arms. She was chattering nonsense about something or other, and he murmured encouraging noises as she tucked her little fingers into the collar of his shirt to investigate its texture. In all too few years, it would be _her_ turn to dress up and go out. If he was borrowing nightmares anyway, that was probably a healthier one to worry about.

Joe stepped out of the master bedroom then, still only half dressed from his own shower, worn jeans riding low on his hips and dark, toned chest glistening with moisture. The nettled look on his face said he'd caught more of the undercurrents in Jensen's conversation with Case than Case had; he'd probably been watching the whole time.

"You look like someone dissed your car," he frowned. "What the hell's going on?"

The Death's Head tattoo on his bicep caught Jensen's attention as he crossed his arms in challenge; Jensen let his eyes linger on it for a moment as he sorted his tangled thoughts, then shook his head slowly. "Later," he said. "After Piper's down. You want to read to her tonight?"

Joe made a face at that; reading was far from his favourite leisure activity. But Piper sat still for his voice better than Jensen's; she liked cuddling against him, pressing an ear against his chest and touching the pictures on the pages as he did the voices for the different fairytale characters. He had a natural storyteller's gift for varying his tone, something that didn't come easily to Jensen.

"Aw, what the hell. Pass her over and fetch me a beer. Case leave us any leftovers?"

"Should be plenty. I'll make us up a couple of plates," he shrugged, then lifted Piper up and blew a raspberry against her belly. "Hey, little one. Joe's going to read you a story. What do you say to that?"

She giggled delightedly again, then turned and leaned out of his arms, happy enough to be passed around so long as someone who adored her was still paying attention. "Do! 'Towwy!" she exclaimed, aiming a smacking, open-mouthed kiss in Joe's direction.

Joe accepted it with a long-suffering air of offering the little princess her due, and waited to wipe his cheek until he had her settled her on his lap on the couch. Jensen shook his head again at the sight, pressing a closed fist briefly against his chest; then he headed for the kitchen and opened the fridge. He'd have an hour or so's reprieve before Joe reminded him about the question; maybe by then, he'd have some kind of an answer.

* * *

Despite his best intentions, Jensen was no closer to shaking his fit of melancholy by the time Piper was curled up in her crib, freshly nappied, sent off with the tale of Prince Hal and the Giant. He wasn't much for dwelling on his own losses, not once they'd been properly laid to rest, but something in him rebelled at the idea of letting his daughter lose touch with where she'd come from.

The lovingly maintained baby book given pride of place on the mantel. The heirloom glass Suzy'd kept in a cabinet in the living room for special occasions. The box of jewellery that had passed, mother to daughter, for generations. All of it was gone. Whether Suzy's family had kept, sold, or destroyed her belongings, he couldn't say, but he was never getting any of it back, regardless. He had money enough to buy Piper what she needed, but you couldn't buy memories, any more than you could buy happiness.

Was it selfish of him to want that connection for her? Would it just weigh her down to hear the truth? Would she be happier growing up with no more than the bare bones details, thinking of Case as her Mama in everything but technical fact? Or would that cheapen Suzy's contribution to their lives?

Jensen stood there, bracing his arms on the bars of the crib and watching her little chest rise and fall, until Joe appeared beside him, wrapping a callused hand around the base of Jensen's neck. He sighed, then nodded and followed the other man back out to the main room, pulling the nursery door fast behind them. No sense waking her if their conversation got a little loud.

"Last time I saw that look, we were talking about Hennessy," Joe challenged him with a scowl. "There some kinda problem I don't know about?"

Jensen shook his head again, though more for lack of words than denial. "Just. I don't know. I was thinking about names. The roles people play."

"Weighty shit," Joe snorted, disdainfully. "It _is_ about the Mama thing, then. You regret asking Case to stay?"

Joe and Case were friendly enough, but not like Case and Jensen, and definitely not like Jensen and Joe; of the three sides to their household dynamic, that one was the weakest. And Joe didn't have much respect for the average human life to begin with; sometimes Jensen got the impression that Joe could still shuck Case as easily as one of his old navigators if she became a problem.

"No," Jensen shook his head, stepping around Joe to settle on the couch. There was no direct threat there, and he didn't want Joe reacting as if there was. He just felt- raw, as though a layer of scar tissue had torn away when he'd been least expecting it. "Caught off guard, is all. Was thinking about how we got here. Wondering, a bit, about the Frank before me."

Whoever the man had been, he'd been the indirect cause of everything that had happened to Jensen since Hennessy let Pachenko out on her leash. He'd avoided asking Joe about their rivalry, but that had been before the past had tightened its grip; he figured it was about time he heard the full story.

Joe rolled his eyes, disdaining the couch to park his arse on the coffee table where he could look Jensen in the eye. "What about him? Guy was an asshole. Good driver, but an asshole. Always kept himself to himself, didn't give the rest of us the time of day."

Coach _had_ told Jensen that Frankenstein never talked to the other drivers. But he doubted an excess of arrogance had been the only reason for the mime act. "Kept himself to himself? Or was kept that way? The minute Hennessy told me about the deal, she threw me in lockdown so I couldn't talk off the track. What if she was doing the same with him?"

"Long damn time not to let anything slip." Joe reached up to absently trace the cross-hatching of scars on one cheek as he replied. "Man had been driving for years before he bought it. He didn't win every race, you know; and he wasn't even in the first one. Started out in the second."

"The _second_?" Jensen sat back at that, bracing his hands on his knees as he slotted that bit of information into place. "Hennessy told me he was so disfigured by crashes that he'd been _forced_ to wear a mask. Crashes, plural. I might have lost my own license, but I'd have heard if there were a masked driver out there with that kind of talent."

"Yeah, maybe. On the pro circuit," Joe shrugged, sceptically. "I heard you used to hold some records. But most of the rest of us was getaway drivers and street racers, shit like that."

"Nevermind the records," Jensen snorted. "I was the _legal_ driver in the family. Relative of mine out in France keeps much better tabs on the other side of things. Trust me. I'd have heard if there were a driver that good, that damaged, just about anywhere."

Joe lifted his eyebrows at that. "Sounds like there's a story in there I might oughta hear."

"Someday, maybe." Jensen lifted a corner of his mouth in a wry smile. "It's a little complicated. Like this one. Why the mask? What were they hiding?"

Joe tilted his head at that, staring at him a long minute, then glanced toward the door to Piper's bedroom. "You know, there _was_ something," he said, slowly.

"Yeah?"

"There was this rumour. You ever see that first race?"

The first Death Race was actually the only one Jensen _had_ seen; after he'd married Suzy, they'd mostly stopped watching reality TV. She'd been a bit nauseated by all the blood. "Yeah. Only a couple of drivers made it. 14K won, if I remember right."

Joe nodded. "Remember the guy whose car caught fire? Guy named Lucas. He'd gone down for killing a badge, felony in commission of, the works; and he'd refused to flip his backer for the DA."

"He drove the Monster, didn't he?" Jensen nodded back, remembering his first sight of the armoured Mustang. "Frankenstein's car, back before it was Frank's."

"Right. Which was about the _only_ thing of Lucas' that stuck around. Two of his old pit crew copped it by the end of the year, and then Hennessy switched out his navigator for Case." He traced another of the scars on his cheek with his thumb. "Lists and 14K were about the only two left who'd known him to talk to, and that was the one thing Lists kept his mouth shut about."

"Lucas," Jensen echoed, shaking his head. He'd seen the footage of the fire; if anyone had survived that, they'd have been unrecognisable. "You're thinking _he_ was Frank? Then why the secret identity?"

"He had a hit out on him, for starters. And September Jones was sick enough to do just about anything that would boost her ratings. Let's say she pitched it to him, and let's say he decided to do it just for the hell of it. Guess who Frank's first kill on the track was? Miss Fuckin' Universe. S'why I was gunning for him. I knew there was no way in hell they'd ever let him out, no matter how many times he won. Shoulda stopped trying to spoil it for the rest of us."

"You know damn well they'd never have let you get out, either," Jensen snorted.

"A dude can hope, can't he?" Joe smirked back. "And what the hell would you call this?"

"Point," Jensen acknowledged. Then he sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. "Quite the story. Guy fucked up, got hung out to dry, didn't know when to quit. At least he died like he lived: refusing to knuckle under."

Joe stared at him a moment, then shifted his weight forward, reaching out to wrap rough hands round Jensen's wrists. "Bullshit. Only honest thing the guy ever did was stand up for a friend who betrayed him. Didn't have a partner. Didn't have a daughter. Didn't have any reason to live."

Jensen frowned at that, searching Joe's face thoughtfully. "That why you never counted coup on him?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "No. I only take what I fuckin' deserve. Case is the one should be cutting her face for him, not me, and we all know it."

Jensen nodded, turning his hands in Joe's hold to return the grip, warmth percolating through him at the answers and loosening the tight bands around his chest. Maybe there was something to the talking thing, after all.

"What you deserve, huh. That include me?"

"Oh, I deserve _something_ all right," Joe muttered, shifting a knee to press between Jensen's.

...Or maybe, certain actions had been speaking louder than words all along. He'd worry about what to tell Piper, and when, when the time came; meanwhile, there was plenty more living to be done.

"Yeah? Then show me," Jensen bared his teeth in a feral smile.

-x-


End file.
